Just Another Day at the Office
by CJane
Summary: Greg gets called in on his day off to deal with the apparent murder of a family in one of the more affluent Vegas neighborhoods.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** The usual disclaimer needs to be added here. I do not own the characters, CBS does. Also, I want to thank Emmithar for reading and editing this story - as well as for offering some suggestions.

**Just Another Day at the Office**

The incessant ringing ripped him from the clutches of what he vaguely remembered to be a good dream. Something about swimming and cake. Or was that swimming _in_ cake? Whatever it was, it was over. Greg swatted blindly at his alarm clock. He found the snooze button, jabbing at it several times before he realized it wasn't making a difference. Greg groaned. His phone. Of course it was the phone. What else could he expect on his first night off in weeks.

He grabbed the guilty object and struggled to pull himself into a seated position without opening his eyes.

"'Lo?" Greg didn't bother to check the caller I.D. He didn't have much of a social life anymore and he was pretty sure it was either Catherine or Nick calling him in.

"Sorry to wake you," it was Catherine, and her voice was much too perky for his taste, "but we've just got hit with a few too many big scenes tonight, and we need you to come in."

By this point, Greg had managed to pry his heavy eyelids open, toss the covers off, and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Experience dictated that getting out of bed when you really didn't want to move should be treated the same way as removing a band aid. Faster was definitely better.

"Okay" He glanced at the clock. It was barely 10 pm. He shouldn't have let himself sleep this late anyway. "Give me 30 minutes to get myself up and out the door. Do want me to head directly to the scene or to the lab?"

"The scene. Thanks Greggo. Nick is already there and he'll fill you in on all the details."

He quickly jotted down the address on the notepad next to his bed – a tip from the late Warrick Brown – as Catherine rattled it off. Tossing the phone into his pile of keys and iPod, Greg made a dash for the bathroom. He figured a five minute shower followed by an even faster tooth brushing was more than what he needed to appear presentable. Long gone were the days of painstakingly sculpting his hair into dangerous spikes and organized chaos. His new short 'do was the result of increased responsibility of a CSI, the pressure to look "the part," and the need to rush out the door with a moment's notice.

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Pulling into the correct street, he turned his nose up in disgust. How fast the media was able to mobilize and camp out at a crime scene was nothing less than abhorrent. They _claim_ "the public has the right to know" what is going on in the city, but he saw their actions as self-serving and part of the constant battle for better ratings.

"Vultures" he muttered under his breath as he slowly maneuvered his car through the residential street littered with reporters and their camera-men, curious bystanders, and the police officers assigned to the case. Greg parked his car behind the lab Denali, and stared at the MacMansion in front of him.

One of the monstrosities that seemed to have appeared overnight during the height of the real estate boon a few years go, it was barely distinguishable from the neighbors' equally large and ostentatious homes. The only differences were the number of law enforcement officials on the property and the long length of crime scene tape roping it off.

Greg slipped out of the car, and retrieved his kit from the trunk. Nodding to the officer on duty, Greg lifted the tape and ducked underneath. He knew he'd find Nick inside, and possibly Brass and SuperDave too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_**Note: This is not a very gripping chapter. It's here to establish the crime and scene and is basically just process. I did not know how to proceed without it.**_

"Hey, Detective Brass. Wanna give me a quick run down before I head in there?" He glanced down the hall and could just catch a glimpse of Nick in what he believed was the living room.

The seasoned detective smirked as the younger man slipped past him into the vast foyer.

"Sure. Next door neighbor heard what she though might be shots around 8:20 last night and decided to snoop through the window. Saw the four vics on the floor, apparently lying in their own blood. Called it in around 8:30 pm. We've got what we believe to be husband, wife and their two teenage daughters. All four received shots to the back of the head. No apparent signs of forced entry or burglary." He looked up from his notepad and glanced at Greg. "Nick's been here for about an hour and Dave just got here 15 minutes ago. Busy night to die in Vegas."

The two men exchanged a knowing look. Every night was a busy night for the LVPD.

"Thanks."

Greg walked cautiously into the next room, careful to avoid anything that could be potential evidence. He stopped at the entrance to what appeared to be a very large and overly-ornately decorated living room. It never ceased to amaze him that so many crimes took place in rooms the size of his entire apartment. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but not by much.

One of the many pearls of wisdom provided by Grissom included taking in as much of a crime scene before attempting to process it for evidence. Greg placed his kit at his feet and surveyed the room silently. Dave and Nick were crouched over the bodies. He knew they had sensed his arrival, but both were focused on their individual tasks. Dave, the assistant coroner, was checking for liver temps to establish time of death while Nick was religiously documenting their positions with the camera. It wouldn't be much longer before the assistant coroner escorted the unfortunate family to the morgue.

Turning his attention to the surrounding room, Greg took in every detail. Nothing seemed out of place other than the four bodies on the floor. They were lying face down on the plush carpet in a pool of intermingled blood; each face stark white against the sharply contrasted crimson. The wife and two daughters had their hands duct taped behind their backs, while the husband's lay loosely at his sides. Curious; it was a definite inconsistency.

"Hey, G. Just get here?" Nick's quiet southern drawl snapped him away from the focus of the scene and onto his colleague.

"Yeah. Catherine called me in. Where do you want me?"

"Sorry about that, man. You know how it gets. I think this is the fourth 419 of the night. Even some of Days have been called in." Nick sat back on his heels, letting the camera fall against his chest as he stared directly at Greg. They all knew too well that the crime rate in Vegas continued to rise and their small team could only tackle so many cases alone. With two new team members, and the loss of three seasoned CSI's, they were operating at a slightly slower pace than before.

"S'okay. I didn't have plans anyway."

"Why don't you take the kitchen and back door." Nick nodded towards the opposite end of the house. "It looks like the perp may have used that route. Take the perimeter too? I'll join you if I finish before you."

With no verbal response necessary, Greg picked up his kit and walked in the general direction that Nick had indicated. He had long since shaken the veil of fatigue, but was now kicking himself for not grabbing something to eat on the way out of his apartment. His stomach growled angrily in agreement. Hell, a cup of coffee would have been enough to keep it quiet for a few more hours.

The kitchen was huge. Actually, that was an understatement. It was a gourmand's dream; shiny granite countertops, sleek, top-of-the line stainless steel appliances, and more than enough room to maneuver your way through the preparations of a five course meal. Ah, what he wouldn't have given – back in the day when he had time to cook – for a kitchen of this scale. While it wasn't obvious from looking at his own kitchen – and bare fridge – that he liked to cook, Greg had picked up the skill during his teenage years. Being trapped at home with his over-protective mother had some privileges. He had enough culinary skills to woo the woman of his dreams.

Sighing, Greg rubbed his eyes and set his kit down. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from the case and set to work. The woman of his dreams had run off a long time ago, and he didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell of ever getting her to reciprocate his feelings. Much to his mother's chagrin, he hadn't had a serious girlfriend in years. Hell, he hadn't had a date in months and hadn't the opportunity to get out and meet anyone new anyway. His mother was just going to have to deal with the reality that he wasn't going to "settle down" anytime soon. Ah; his mother.

How did he even get on that train of thought? Her constant calls and smothering were enough to make him move as far away from home as possible. He didn't need her interrupting his concentration at work as well.

Brushing aside the unintended thoughts of his mother and dateless nights, Greg set to work processing the pristine kitchen. It didn't look as though the home owners ever used the appliances other than the fridge.

It was immaculate. Either they spent a lot of time eating out, or they had a housekeeper whose sole purpose was to make sure this room was spotless. Stainless steel appliances could be one of two things for a CSI; a fingerprinting nightmare or a bonanza, depending on which perspective you took. They recorded every touch, smudge, or object that happened to brush up against them. In this case, it was none of the above. Greg managed to lift a handful of useable prints off the fridge, more than likey from the family, but nothing else. The surfaces were clean.

Greg painstakingly made his way towards the back door, collecting and documenting anything that could be evidence. Groaning, he realized that in all the time he'd spent in that room, he probably hadn't collected anything related to the case.

Noticing something by the back door, he dropped to his hands and knees. Was that a shoe print? He shined the flashlight at the spot and cocked his head to the side. Yup. Finally! Didn't Warrick once say that you could solve a case by shoeprints alone?

He wasn't quite sure if that was true, but the experienced CSI had been pretty adept at manipulating the most stubborn of shoeprints. Shaking his head, Greg tried to file his memories of Warrick back away. He found that processing scenes always brought out those little tidbits and anecdotes. While he and Warrick were nowhere near as close as Nick and Warrick had been, Greg had a lot of fond memories and owed much of what he knew about crime scene analysis to his former colleague.

After processing the door, which appeared intact, he made his way outside. There was a pot there that was very visibly out of place. The watermark stain left on the cement indicated that it had been moved.

Done processing the back landing, Greg stepped into the grass. It was obvious that the homeowners had once put a lot of time and money into keeping the back yard green. However, even in the dark, he could tell that the once lush lawn had recently become a victim to Vegas' arid environment. Without constant watering and care, it did not take long for grass to become yellow and crispy. And the grass was definitely crispy.

Sweeping his flashlight back and forth, he paused as something shiny caught his eye. Was that a key? YES! He grinned as he patted his chest, searching for a plastic bag in one of the pockets to slip the key inside. A closer look told him that this key could possibly be to the back door; further more he would bet $100 that it was once hidden beneath the flower pot. With any luck, it would yield a nice clean print too.

Greg shivered with a sudden chill; he really regretted leaving his jacket in his locker at the lab. His lab-issued vest was not doing much to protect him against the chill of the night air. Hopefully, processing the perimeter would not require as much attention as the bloody scene inside and he could head back to the lab soon.

It was an hour later, when he found himself on the opposite side of the fenced back yard as someone called out for him. Nick. Greg caught a glimpse of a flashlight sweeping across the yard in search for him.

"Give me a second!" he yelled back. Greg hopped back over onto the victims' property, carrying another evidence bag. "Sorry. Found this on the other side of the fence. If we are lucky, the murderer dropped something on his way out. If not, I think I just found the neighbor's missing glove." He grinned as he waved the bagged item in front of Nick's face.

Nick returned his smile. It was hard not to. Even at the most inappropriate moments, Greg's infamous grins were both mischievous and infectious. "You done out here?"

"Yup. This is the last item. Need some help loading the evidence into the truck?"

"Yeah, thanks"

They loaded the Denali in silence, both feeling the wear and strain of the long shift. Even still, there was more work to be done; they couldn't call it a day just yet. "I'll meet you back at the lab?" Nick raised his brows questioningly.

"Mind if I stop off and grab something to eat on the way? I'm starving. I can pick you up a burger if you're hungry too."

"Thanks, man. I'll have what ever you're having. I'll meet you back in the layout room."

Parting ways, Greg tossed his kit back into the truck of his car. He was happy to see that the media seemed to have lost interest in the scene, and the random onlookers had dispersed. Right now, his top priority was taking a quick detour through the nearest fast food drive-through and then heading directly back to the lab to sift through the evidence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

A few hours later, Greg and Nick found themselves sitting at the layout room table, surrounded by crime scene photos and assorted pieces of seemingly unrelated evidence. Earlier, they'd dropped the glove off with Wendy for DNA analysis and given Mandy the few prints to run. However, both women were suffering the consequences of the rash of crimes from that night, and had many hours of samples and requests to slog through. The backlog extended into the morgue, and the CSI's were waiting for the page from Doc Robbins to let them know their victims were next on the slab.

At this point, neither man had much to go on other than what was spread out in front of them. They were becoming increasingly frustrated from the delays and lack of leads. The night shift often dealt with the annoying reality that not all of Vegas kept their hours. While high profile and extremely time-sensitive cases could mobilize warrants and rouse individuals for expedited interviews, the majority of cases required that they at least wait until dawn.

Without warning, Greg pushed against the table sending his chair back a foot. "I'm going to get coffee." It was a statement often heard from the younger CSI's mouth.

Nick chuckled. "Is that your answer for everything? I don't think you _need_ any more caffeine today. You've had four cups in the past two hours alone and you can't sit still as it is." He leaned back in his own chair, lifting his eyebrows in amusement at his jumpy colleague.

"Okay, fine. I need to get up and stretch my legs and I can't think of any other excuse to do that. I'm just sick of sitting here, hoping that something new will just jump out at me." He reached over the table and grabbed two photos, holding them up for Nick to see. "This is really bothering me." In one hand was the image of the wife, Lynn Hopkins, and the other held that of the husband, Robert.

"Yeah. That's been eating at me too. Why bind the hands of the women but leave the stronger victim's hands free? Maybe he wasn't supposed to be there and walked in after the fact?"

"Nah. That doesn't mesh with what the nosey neighbor told Brass. She said she heard shots _then_ went to look in the window. Surely she would have heard yelling if the guy walked in to find his family like that?" He put the photos back down and started pacing the room. Being seated for so long made Greg antsy and walking gave his body the release he needed to clear his mind. "What do you think, Nick? Want to run through some possible scenarios?"

Suddenly, Nick's phone beeped. "It's Brass." He quickly scrolled through the short text before standing up. "He's heading out to Hopkins' office to speak to his employees. Guy owns a small construction company. Wanna go?"

As if on cue, Greg's phone vibrated in response. "Uh, no. Doc Robbins is ready to start on our vics. I'll cover the autopsies if you head out with Brass." The men quickly gathered their scattered evidence, put it into a box, and stored it securely for later. They each went their separate ways thankful for something different and hopeful that their case could now move forward.

"Thanks, Mandy"

Greg walked out of the fingerprint lab, paper in hand, and ran into Nick in the hallway.

"So, my day has picked up. Turns out, there was nothing new from autopsy except that the husband didn't have any defensive wounds. All four were killed by a single bullet to the back of the head. 9 mm to be exact."

"Well, that would match the shell casings we found at the scene" Nick replied.

"I'm not done." Greg handed Nick the paper he was holding. "The fingerprints on the casings belonged to our vic, Bob, as did the fingerprints on the duct tape. However, the DNA in the glove matched some guy named Edward Silver."

"Wait. Ed Silver?" Ducking into the nearest conference room, Nick gestured for Greg to follow. He opened the folder was carrying and flipped through a pile of typed pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Ed Silver is on a list of current and former staff that Bob Hopkins' receptionist gave me. It appears that his construction company is a casualty of the current economy and our vic recently had to lay off most of his staff. Ed was one of the last to go."

"Okay. So we've got a possibly disgruntled former employee, but the only thing linking him to the scene is a glove that could have been dropped at any time. We still have the shoe print, but we need something to compare it to. I somehow don't think any judge will give us a search warrant right now." He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. It was well past the end of shift and he really just wanted to go home.

"Right. I'll get the motions rolling on getting Hopkins' bank, credit card and phone records. Maybe we can find something to link Ed Silver. At least enough for a warrant. Go home and get some rest, man. I know this was supposed to be your shift off. I'll meet you back here at eight tonight."

"Thanks. It can't hurt to pick things back up with a fresh set of eyes, and in your case, maybe a fresh shirt." He grinned and pointed at Nick. "That thing's rank, Dude. When was the last time you did laundry?" He deftly sidestepped as Nick feigned a punch.

"Hey, some of us were hard at work in the Vegas heat this morning, instead of hanging out in the air conditioning with Doc Robbins."

Greg laughed and turned towards the locker room. "See you in a few hours, Nicky."

Emptying his pockets, Greg tossed his keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a flashing number four. He quickly jabbed the 'play' button on his voicemail before rooting through the fridge. Other than a few half empty take-out cartons, and something mysterious wrapped in foil, there really was not much in there. Cereal it was. Grabbing the milk, he gave it a quick sniff. He couldn't remember buying the milk, but it didn't smell too offensive.

The mechanical voice of his machine kicked in as he sat down to eat:

_Greg. It's Mom. I haven't heard from you in a few days. I just wanted to check and make sure you are okay. I love you, sweetheart. Call me when you get this._

_Greg, it's Mom again. I know it's your night off and you're probably out with friends, but don't forget to call me when you get in. _

Greg groaned as his mother's distinctive voiced filled the room for the third and fourth times, getting increasingly agitated as the messages got shorter and more direct. He should have known they'd all be from her. Ever since his beating in that back alley, she'd panic when he took too long to return a call. He _really_ didn't want to tell her what had happened, but didn't know how to keep an incident with that high of a profile secret. The woman had some super-mom powers when it came to her only son. There was no way she_ wouldn't_ find out on her own.

Crap. Now he was going to have to call her back and endure at least an hour long lecture on the etiquette of returning calls, eating well, and his non-existent love-life. Fantastic. He rolled his eyes as he reached for the phone. It was best to get it over with as soon as possible.

Greg stared at the ceiling. His call to his mother had gone as expected. After a while, he stopped listening. As long as he added an "uh huh" every now and again, she never noticed. He used the old standby, 'I'm really tired and need to sleep before next shift,' to finally get her off the phone, but now he couldn't sleep.

After years of working night shift, his body had become acclimated to sleeping in a somewhat lit room. Since switching from the lab to the field, he was so exhausted he'd just stumble into bed right after shift. This had done quite a number on his social life. During his DNA tech days, he'd have time to hang out with friends, maybe a date now and again, but all that had changed. He did not regret his switch in career – not at all. He did however find that life was getting more and more lonely.

At first his friends understood when he'd stopped hanging out on a regular basis. They didn't complain when he had to cancel at the last minute, or when he'd get called into work on a night off. After a few months, he noticed that they stopped asking him to join them at the local bar or to parties. By the end of the first year, they'd stopped calling completely. Not exactly the actions of friends, but then again, he hadn't been a good one either.

Now, he was stuck in a vicious cycle; work, home, work, home and on a night that he didn't get called in, a chance to run some errands. The closest he got to a social life now, was breakfast after shift with the team and regular calls from his mother.

Greg rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable. When he'd first started training as a CSI, he thought that he and Sara had made a good team. He enjoyed hanging out with her, both at work and after hours and he thought she'd had fun too. She had slowly stopped agreeing to go out after work with him around the time he imagined that she'd started dating Grissom.

Despite what he had told Nick after she had been taken by Natalie Davis, he really hadn't known Sara and Grissom were together. He had been just as shocked as the rest of the team. It had made sense though.

Since the team had been broken apart, and two new members added, Greg found that it just wasn't the same. Camaraderie was the glue that held them all together, and they hadn't had enough time to develop it yet. It had taken the original team years to become a family of sorts, and he expected it would be a while before Ray and Riley found their place.

Often, he found himself reaching for the phone to call Nick. Maybe invite him over for beer or to watch a game? But, he never did. Greg was afraid that Nick would think he was trying to take Warrick's place, which he wasn't. He was just tired of being alone all the time.

Ugh. Great. Now he was feeling like such a wuss. There was no way he was going to fall asleep now. Greg abandoned his efforts and grabbed his running gear instead. There was nothing like a long run in the desert heat to smack some sense into him. Or maybe it was just distracting enough to forget about his current woes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

He'd managed to get some sleep after his run, so he didn't feel too worse for the wear when he returned to work. Finishing up, Greg closed his locker and left the room, heading towards Grissom's former office, the one he now shared with Nick and Riley.

Pulling a file from his drawer, Greg flopped into his seat. The office was "cozy." Actually, stuffed to the gills was a more accurate description, but he liked having his own place to go through case details. In the past, they'd have to scope out an available conference room, often moving multiple times to accommodate another CSI's larger collection of evidence. When this office housed Grissom's multiple bookshelves, specimens and other assorted furniture, you'd never have guessed it could have fit three desks.

Greg flipped through some of the lab results that had been placed on his desk, barely noticing Riley as she entered the room.

"Hi." She placed her kit next to her desk and sat down within arm's reach of him. "Still working the Hopkins murder?"

"Yeah. Hopefully we'll be able to bring our primary suspect in for questioning tonight." He smiled at his new colleague. He liked her, but still didn't feel as though he knew her very well yet. He wasn't quite certain if she actually was as confident as she acted, or if it was just false bravado.

Chuckling, he recalled her response to his Yellow Pages comment on one of their first cases together. That was when he first realized that he wasn't the "kid" of the team anymore.

"What's so funny?" Curious, Riley gave him a sideways glance.

"Nothing." Still smiling, Greg remembered that after that case, he'd stashed a copy of the phone book in the back of their filing cabinet. One day, he was going to come up with a fantastic prank to pull on her, and that copy of the Yellow Pages would play the starring role. He just hadn't figured it out yet.

"Have you seen Nick yet?"

"Sorry."

Grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, and the file from the desk, Greg made a beeline for the door. "I'll see ya later, Riley." He saw her lift a hand in a half-wave as he turned down the corridor.

Before he could make it into the break room to grab a cup of coffee, he heard his name being called.

"Sanders. Should have guessed you'd be here." Brass nodded towards the room. Greg's love of –or addiction to – coffee was well known within these walls. "Wanna take a ride?"

"Sure. Warrants come through?" Eyebrows lifted expectantly, Greg turned to the older man.

"Yeah. We're heading to Edward Silver's house to pick him up for questioning. Grab your kit. I'll meet you out front." Brass turned to leave.

Making sure to send Nick a text with his plans first, Greg grabbed his supplies. Grinning, he hurried to meet the detective before Brass was tempted to leave without him. He loved interviewing suspects with the older man. Brass had a wicked sense of humor and an uncanny ability to sense when a suspect was about to launch into a tall tale. His snappy one-liners were famous within the LVPD. The crazier the suspect, the better Brass's response.

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In complete contrast to the victims' home, Edward Silver's house was a dump. The shutters were barely hanging on by their hinges and the front yard was completely barren – except for the random pieces of litter strewn across the property. It looked as though Silver had completely neglected his home for years.

"Wait here until the house is cleared," Detective Brass warned Greg. He was fully aware of protocol and did not need to be told twice.

Even so, it seemed pretty obvious to Greg that the suspect was not home. There were no lights on inside the house and no car parked out front. That didn't mean the man was hiding somewhere inside. This was why the officers had to identify themselves before forcing the door open. Everyone was given a chance to turn themselves in without a fight.

Slowly, Greg climbed out of the passenger side of the detective's sedan, pulling his heavy kit with him. The process of clearing a house could be over in seconds, or last several minutes depending on its size and any complications. He shuffled up the walkway and paused at the door, holding back until he received the signal. It came a moment later.

"House is clear," Brass's voice clearly called from one of the back rooms. Greg was inside the next moment, the door swinging closed behind him.

The interior of the house was in slightly better shape than the exterior. While it was obvious from the orange 70's sofa and slightly battered, mismatched furniture that the occupant did not have much money to spend, the living room was clean and uncluttered. Pulling a pair of gloves from his kit, Greg set to work.

He started from there, sweeping through the room in similar fashion as to any other case, holding himself back from what he wanted to finding, and instead looking over everything the scene had to offer. One of his rookie mistakes had been to overlook evidence because of the drive of wanting to find the case-breaking piece of evidence. He had lost count of how many cases he had nearly lost by following that theory.

Sighing, Greg stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The house was not air conditioned – rare in Vegas – and it was getting stuffier by the minute. It was made worse, perhaps, by their presence there. Extra bodies in tight spaces certainly didn't relieve the accumulation of heat. He was pretty sure Nick was going to make some comment about his B.O. when he returned as payback for his remarks earlier. Greg took a moment to collect what he needed before moving to the next room.

It was there on the dining room table that he found exactly what he wanted; a black duffle bag carrying a dark hoodie, a roll of duct tape, and a single black glove. Bingo. Greg couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew that all they had to do was match these items to those at the lab, and Mr. Silver would be arrested for murder. Carefully, he placed the items into individual brown paper evidence bags, and sealed them for transport back to the lab.

Thoughts interrupted, he jumped as the front door slammed open. It could be anyone, he reasoned, but his heart skipped a beat as the voice called out.

"What the hell are you doing in my house? You have no right to be here!"

_Shit_. Greg could only presume that the angry, middle-aged man screaming at him was their suspect, Edward Silver. With a quick glance in the direction he had last seen the detective Greg took a breath and turned to face the suspect.

Over the years, he'd often been teased about how much he could prattle on about nothing, but at times he had found it a useful skill to be able to talk himself out of difficult situations. Without a gun at his side, this was his only weapon. This was one instance where he truly hoped he had the "gift of gab."

"I'm sorry. Are you Mr. Silver?" When the suspect nodded, still visibly angry and slightly confused, Greg continued. "I'm Greg Sanders with the Crime Lab. I'm sure you are aware, but your former boss, Mr. Hopkins, was found dead last night. Your name was on a list of his employees and we are interviewing everyone for any possible leads."

Greg reached for the radio in his kit, "Let me call Detective Brass. He has the warrant if you need to…"

At the mention of a warrant, Greg could see the shift in the man's demeanor. He went from being angry to panicked, in a fraction of a second. Before he could reach the radio, he saw the suspect reach behind his back.

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Greg lifted his hands in submission as he saw the man pull out a gun. He took a step back, increasing the distance between the two of them just as Silver leveled the weapon directly at him. He could only hope that either Brass or one of the officers had noticed their suspect's loud entrance.

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg noticed the briefest movement. Silver obviously noticed it as well as he glanced in the same direction, keeping his gun trained on Greg.

"Don't come any closer" he warned as Brass and one of the officers appeared from the back hallway.

"Mr. Silver, you're a smart guy, you don't want to do that" Brass lifted his hands motioning towards the gun. "We just came to talk to you about your old boss, Bob. Put the gun down why don't you."

"I don't think so. This guy says you have a warrant. I know what that means. I'll shoot him if you get any closer."

Greg noticed that the suspect's hands were starting to shake and his eyes were darting back and forth between Brass and the uniformed officer. That could _not_ be good. Taking a shaky breath, Greg tried to steady his own hands. While he had been in dangerous situations before, he'd never been held at gun point before. He knew he had to stay calm and follow whatever leads Brass threw at him.

Brass seemed to sense that things were getting further and further out of control. "Come on, you don't want to do this. Let's talk, you and me. You want to keep the gun, fine. Let's leave him out of it. He's not a cop, you have no business with him." He took one step closer to Silver, lifting his hands to his sides.

"I said, don't come any closer!"

Silver's movement was completely unexpected as he lunged towards Greg, grabbing him from behind and shoving the barrel of his gun against the back of his head.

_Shit! _This was not going well. Greg found Brass looking directly into his eyes, the detective's gun drawn and trying to find a mark. Greg knew that he had to remain calm, but considering the circumstances, he was finding it to be a bit difficult. He took a deep breath, fighting what he could only imagine to be the beginnings of a panic attack.

"Ed. Come on. Do you really want to hurt an innocent man? Let's just have a conversation. Put the gun down"

"He made me do it. I didn't want to. He said he'd pay me to kill him so that his family would get the insurance money." Silver was starting to panic. Greg felt the man's grasp of his neck tighten, the gun pressed even more forcefully against his skull.

Greg looked at Brass in desperation. Brass was always very cool under pressure, and this situation was no different. He could tell that Brass was trying to read the suspect; get a good idea of how best to address him, but Greg didn't think this guy was at a place where he could make a good judgment call.

He bit his bottom lip, willing himself not to make a sound or to move an inch. He didn't need any additional attention drawn to himself. Greg could feel Silver's breath on his neck, hot and fast, and knew the guy was sweating profusely.

"I know you didn't want to. Just like I know you don't want to hurt Sanders. Just hand me the gun and we can talk about this man to man."

"They weren't supposed to be there. He said he'd be alone. I didn't kill those girls. I didn't hurt them." All of a sudden, Silver pulled himself up straight. For a brief moment, he seemed to realize the gravity of the situation; the reality of his confession sinking in.

"No man. I can't let him go. You're gonna let me leave this house first. I'll let him go when I know you're not following me." He pulled Greg back, using the man as a shield as they slowly inched through the front door. Greg had no choice but to follow, stumbling over his feet at the awkward position.

"Don't do something you'll regret later, Silver. Just let him go. You can't run away from this one." Brass slowly moved forward, hesitant to let the CSI out of his sight.

Greg was scared. He was petrified. He had no idea what to do other than let the suspect pull him outside. He knew that any sudden movement could be his last and kept hoping that Brass would give him some indication of what he was supposed to next; how he was supposed to react.

The weight of the gun to the back of his head was enough of a reminder that he had absolutely no control of the situation. The suspect's car was parked directly in front of the house. He shoved Greg into the driver's seat and slipped in the back seat directly behind him. Crouching down low, he tossed the keys into Greg's lap and growled "Drive."

With one last look at the visibly distraught detective, Greg placed the keys in the ignition and placed the vehicle in gear. He had no idea where he was supposed to be going, or even if the suspect had any plans, but he did know he needed to remain calm. He needed to somehow convince Silver that it was in his best interest to let him out of the car – unharmed – as soon as possible.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Please review; it adds a little sunshine to my day


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, Greg could make out the sirens behind them. As long as he continued to hear them – better yet, see police cruisers – he felt as though could maintain some semblance of calm. The police were keeping their distance, but obviously not letting Greg and Silver out of their sight. That much was reassuring.

Without any direction from Silver, Greg had just maneuvered the car through Vegas traffic onto I-15 South. He figured that it would be best to get as far away from innocent civilians in case the situation turned violent. A high speed car chase on the Strip did not seem like the best idea.

He could hear the suspect muttering under his breath, but could not make out much more than a few profanities. This guy was not handling the pressure well and it made Greg nervous. He'd much rather be taken hostage by a calculated criminal, than one who was a loose cannon. Regardless of the man's mutterings, Greg could still feel the gun pressed solidly against his side. He was just thankful that it was no longer pointed at his head.

Greg took a deep, shaky breath. He knew that if he made it back to the lab, this incident would become fodder for the constant argument he had with Catherine and Nick. Ever since the beating, his colleagues had tried to convince him to carry a sidearm. Yes, he had passed all the certifications and tests, but no, he still did not feel comfortable carrying a gun to any crime scene.

After weeks of suffering from nightmares, Greg had confided in Sara, who had constantly harassed him about carrying a weapon. In one of his recurring dreams, he always did. He'd woken up sweating, shaking and screaming in terror every time: that gun was used to kill the tourist, Stanley Tanner, and himself. He just couldn't force himself to ever consider the option after that.

Shaking his head, Greg tried to clear his thoughts of the image. That was one dream he was glad did not make a nightly appearance anymore. They were now coasting along the highway out of Vegas and heading towards California. He decided to try his luck in trying to convince the suspect to let him go.

"Hey man, I really don't think you want to do this. If you kill me, it'll be much worse. Just let me pull over and get out, and you can keep driving out of town." Silver didn't respond, so Greg continued. "You don't need me anymore."

"Shut up! Just shut up! I can't think with you going on and on."

Greg closed his mouth. He wasn't sure what to do next. He could still see the police cruisers behind them and thought he had spotted a chopper a short while ago. He just had to trust the LVPD in getting him out of the situation.

Greg looked in the rearview mirror; the state of the suspect was not making him feel any more confident. Silver was still crouched between the driver's seat and the back seat, obviously trying to keep out of the line of sight. He was rocking back and forth in the tight space, muttering under his breath.

_Shit_. This was not good. Why the hell were the police not doing anything?

All of a sudden, Greg felt the pressure of the gun disappear. Silver had pulled both hands to his head and was pulling on his hair.

"They weren't supposed to be there. Those girls, that lady. They weren't part of the deal."

Greg knew Silver was referring to the Hopkins woman and daughters. The suspect had already alluded to this fact at the house, and he appeared to be really distraught over the events.

"I only took the money to help him out. He said I had to do it so that it would look like he was murdered. When I got there, the women were there too. He had them tied up. I swear. I didn't do it!"

Greg was on the verge of panic. The guy was obviously talking about the crime. He had no idea how to respond.

"He did it. He killed his wife. Then he shot his girls. It wasn't me. It wasn't me!" Silver screamed.

"I understand, Mr. Silver. I know you didn't kill those women. Why don't we pull over? You can give your formal statement to the police. Let them know you aren't to blame."

"SHUT UP. Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth, boy?" Silver looked at Greg through the rear view mirror, wild-eyed and angry.

"I took his money. I took his gun. I killed him. Just like he asked. I killed him. Cops'll get me for that."

Greg noticed the suspect put his head down, taking his eyes off of the gun and Greg. With the weapon no longer pointed at him, Greg felt this was probably his only chance. He slowed the car down slightly, hoping Silver would not notice.

"What the hell are you doing?" The suspect suddenly lashed out at Greg hitting him violently across the face with the butt of the gun.

Instinctively, Greg let go of the wheel and reached up towards his head. He could feel the warm trickle of blood and his vision began to cloud and narrow. Feeling the car shift in direction, Greg panicked and slammed on the brakes. With the squealing of tires and a sudden crash, the car came to a sudden stop against the median.

Lifting his head from the steering wheel, he was blinded by the sudden pain. He reached towards the door, grabbing at the latch, frantically trying to pry the door open. Suddenly, he found himself falling onto the dusty ground. Greg pulled himself further from the car, barely noticing Silver's movement. With a sigh of relief, Greg heard the car peeling off without him.

He pulled his arms under his body and tried to push off the ground. His head felt like it weighed a ton and he could barely get his limbs to respond. As he lifted his head slightly and opened his eyes, he could just see two squad cars in pursuit. He placed his head back down, unable to support its weight any longer. Before he slipped into darkness, he heard his name being called.

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His ears were ringing and he could hear murmuring. His head felt like it was in a vice and there was no way he wanted to lift it an inch.

"Greg. Greg. Can you hear me?"

Oh god. Someone was trying to pry his eyes open and assaulting them with a very bright light. That did _not_ feel good.

"Yeah," Greg lifted his hands to block the light, batting the additional hands from his face. Squinting, he recognized the two EMT's hovering over him. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Help me up." He attempted to push himself up off the ground, but was firmly pushed back down.

"I don't think you should be moving just yet. I want to finish checking you over first."

Greg relented, mostly due to the fact that it hurt too much to move on his own. He did a quick internal scan of his body. Despite his painful head – which he attributed to being wacked with the gun and the force at which his head hit the steering wheel – he seemed to be okay. Maybe a bruise here or there, but he certainly didn't feel as though anything was broken.

Keeping his eyes closed, he let the EMT treat the cut on his forehead without a fight.

"Hey Greggo."

He turned towards the voice, opening one eye. "Catherine."

"You okay?" She reached over and touched his arm, concern written across her face. "When Brass called, we came as fast as we could."

Greg hadn't noticed Nick walk up with her.

"Hey, man"

"Hey." Feeling slightly self-conscious and fully aware of the fact he was still lying flat on his back on the side of the road, Greg attempted to get the EMT's attention. "Can I get up now?"

"Yes. Let me give you a hand." Both the EMT and Nick supported Greg as he struggled to a seated position.

Groaning, Greg held his head in his hands, feeling the handiwork of the medical professionals under his fingers.

"Those steri-strips should be enough to hold the cut closed. It's deep, but I don't think you'll need to be stitched up. You should be checked out though; I really think you should take a trip to the hospital. Make sure you don't have a serious head injury." The EMT was well versed when it came to the LVPD CSI's. Most of them, regardless of shift, were reluctant to seek medical attention if they had any say in the matter, however he had to offer. "Les and I can give you a ride to Desert Palms in the ambulance."

"Uh, no." Greg shuddered at the thought. Ambulances were reserved for emergencies, and he certainly did not need to bring back memories of his last ride in one. "Thank you, but I think I'll get a ride from someone else." He looked at Catherine and Nick, still crouched next to him.

"I'll take you, Greg. Nick is going to stay and process this scene." Catherine patted his arm and pushed herself to a standing position. "I have a few questions I need to ask you anyway."

Of course. His less than glamorous exit from the escape vehicle had left a crime scene for the CSI's to process and he was now the unfortunate witness to yet another crime. Nick and Les helped Greg to his feet and to the department truck. He was dizzy and his head hurt, but he was happy to be out of the suspect's car.

"I'll come by to check on you later. Take it easy." Nick waved at Greg, who responded with a wan smile and wave of his own. He just wanted to go home and crawl back into bed. He had a feeling it was going to be a while before he got his wish.

Catherine climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "I'm really glad you are okay, Greg. You had us really worried there." She gave him a knowing look. Their team had suffered from too many "incidents" over the past few years, and the most recent – Warrick's death – causing a rawness that wouldn't heal. The night shift could not handle another death on their team.

"So, do you want to fill me in on what happened in that car now, or once we're at the hospital?" Greg understood that her question was not callous and cold, rather sympathetic. Regardless of when he gave the rundown, it had to be done. Sometimes, it was better to get it over with as soon as possible; when the memories were still fresh.

"Now is fine."

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Due to the nature of his injuries, Greg was not seen by a doctor immediately. However, because of his association with law enforcement, he was lucky enough to be taken back ahead of the other minor cases littering the ER waiting room. Catherine, having received a call to another scene, had to leave, but promised to send either Nick or Riley to take him home.

As expected, his injuries were nothing serious: moderate concussion, a gash to the forehead, and a few bruises that would probably take a few hours to show their true ugliness. He was warned in advance that his severe headache would probably get worse before it got better, and could last up to two weeks. _Lovely_. He was in the process of signing the paperwork, when Nick showed up.

"Greggo. Sorry I'm so late. Are they letting you go already?" Upon seeing his colleague's battered face, he looked even more concerned that he had on the highway. "You don't look so good, man."

Despite the pain, he cocked his head and smiled. "It's only a flesh wound."

Nick grinned in response. "At least you didn't damage your sense of humor."

"Mr. Sanders," a young nurse interrupted the two men. "Here's my number. In case you have any concerns." She handed Greg a piece of paper, her hand lingering in his for a moment. "Remember to come back in immediately if you have any trouble thinking or remembering, or if your headache does not subside within a week."

Behind her, Nick looked at Greg in amusement and winked.

"Thanks. I will." He slipped the paper in to his back pocket and turned to leave.

As the two men walked through the exit, Nick nudged Greg in the arm. "Picking up the nurses, huh. Gonna call her?"

Greg chuckled. "Maybe."

"Are you hungry, want to grab a bite to eat before I take you home?"

"No thanks. I'm tired and have a bitchin' headache. I just really want to go home."

"Fair enough." He paused as he opened the door to his car. "Listen, I have tonight off, and I'm pretty sure Catherine'll have your head on a platter if you showed up at the lab tonight. How 'bout I come over later with beer, a pizza, and a movie filled with explosions, car chases, and no sign of a plot?"

Greg looked up in surprise, "Really?" He could kick himself. Way to go, Sanders. Nick does _not_ need to see how desperate you are for someone to hang out with. "I mean, I'd like that, but what about the case? Did you catch him?" He slipped into the passenger seat and waited for Nick to answer.

"Yeah. Silver didn't get too far down the highway after you got out. They managed to get him at a roadblock about 20 minutes later. He confessed to everything."

"He said he didn't kill the women. He said that Hopkins did it himself." Greg sighed. He couldn't fathom why the man would kill his wife and daughters while paying for someone else to murder him.

"Turns out that Hopkins was bankrupt. He was losing his business, house, cars. Basically, he was losing everything. For some reason, he couldn't handle his family finding out about his financial failures, and decided at it would be better for them to die too. He hired Silver to kill himself afterwards, to try and cover up his own crime."

As they drove in silence, Greg stared out the window; thinking about what would bring a man to make a choice like that. It never ceased to amaze him at the distance people went to in order to conceal their darkest secrets. It just didn't seem worth it to him. Sighing, he pointed Nick towards his apartment complex.

"When did you move?" Confused, Nick turned to Greg.

Shrugging, Greg pushed the car door open. "A while ago. " He hadn't realized that most of his colleagues didn't know of his change of address. But then it made sense. It had been a while since any of them had come over. "Thanks for the ride, Nick."

"I'll see you tonight, Greg." Nick reminded his friend. "Get some rest before then."

Greg waved and turned to climb the steps to his second level unit. Despite looking forward to some guy bonding later, he was definitely ready for some Advil and sleep now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I am officially back from my holiday. Unfortunately, I don't really have the mindset to write right now and am a little uncertain of how to finish up the story. Please bear with me as I take my time in making a decision and writing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Final Note: ** Many thanks to Emmithar for reading, reviewing, and providing much needed suggestions for this story. Thanks to all of you for reading and submitting reviews. Feel free to review this last section - a next story may depend on it.

**CHAPTER SIX**

Greg sat at the edge of his bed. He had attempted to get up, but hadn't managed to move very far. He felt a hell of a lot more battered than he did six hours ago, and the bruises from his most recent "incident" were beginning to make an appearance across his torso. His head felt as though it was going to split open as he reached for the bottle of Advil he'd placed on the nightstand before he'd gone to sleep. _Ugh. Two weeks?_ He hoped that this headache would _not_ last that long.

Swallowing the pills dry, he willed his body to stand and fumbled to pull a clean pair of jeans and a hoodie from the chest of drawers. It wouldn't be long before Nick arrived, and there were a few things he needed to do before his friend showed up.

While he was not a messy person by nature, despite what others assumed, his apartment was tiny and became cluttered very quickly. Groaning, Greg cleared the coffee table and made sure the sofa was free of extraneous clothes and other crap.

He'd managed to toss the last items into his bedroom closet before he heard a knock at the door.

"Hey, grab one of these will ya," Nick practically shoved the six pack of beer into Greg's hands as he walked through the door. "I thought I was going to drop something halfway up the stairwell," his voice trailed off as he came to a stop, his eyes glancing around the apartment.

"Dude, I think you've been robbed."

"What?" Greg was confused; most of his concentration had been on keeping the beer from slipping out his hands.

"Seriously G, where's all your stuff? The kick-ass stereo system, the game consoles, all your CD's?"

"Oh. I had to downsize when I moved to this place two years ago. I couldn't fit all that crap in here. I had to get rid of a lot of furniture too." He haphazardly relinquished the beer on the coffee table, moving towards the kitchen to grab some plates and paper towels.

Greg knew that Nick was watching him, he could see it out of the corner of his eye how the man stared with one eyebrow raised. The Texan could tell that he was hiding something, that space wasn't the only reason he had downsized. Shifting uncomfortably, he changed the topic.

"What movie did you bring?" He motioned to Nick to make himself comfortable, and reached for the DVD.

"Does it matter? Lots of gratuitous sex and violence. Isn't that enough?" He grinned at Greg who just chuckled in response.

"Sound good to me." He slipped the DVD into the machine and settled onto the sofa with a beer.

It had been a long while since either of them had paid much heed towards a movie. That much could be easily seen in the way they paid attention, and though Greg was grateful for the distraction Nick had offered the movie itself wasn't much to talk about. They had managed to consume all the pizza and were working on the last of the beers, and the plot less movie was not doing much to hold their attention.

"So, are you going to tell me why you moved?" Nick looked at Greg questioningly, and the younger man just shrugged in response.

"Lawyers are expensive. I needed to make a lifestyle adjustment." He hoped that Nick would be satisfied with his response, but Greg knew it was wishful thinking. The investigator sitting next to him would not be happy until he had the full story.

"But that was over two years ago, and the lawsuit was settled."

"Yeah, but not before I had to hire a lawyer, deal with all the depositions, and take care of a million other legal matters. I needed some fast cash, so I sold a lot of stuff, and then I needed to find someplace cheaper to live. Like I said; lawyers are expensive."

Greg avoided Nick's gaze. This was not a topic he liked discussing with anyone. He preferred to keep it private and hadn't even gone to his parents for financial help.

"I'm just thankful that I got reduced legal fees because of the Union." Greg looked directly at Nick, and could tell he wanted to ask more. He could see the hesitation in his eyes.

"What about your book? Weren't you going to get that published?"

"Yeah. I had meetings scheduled with two publishers, but I guess they don't like getting stood up."

Both men were quiet for a moment. The indirect reference to Warrick's murder was enough. There was no need to explain why Greg never made it to those appointments.

Nick was first to break the silence.

"I miss him, you know. Long before he died, we stopped hanging out like this." Nick gestured to the pizza box and beer bottles.

Greg didn't know how to respond. He just looked at his forlorn colleague and waited for him to continue.

"After a bad shift, we used to just go out for beers and talk about anything other than the case." Nick looked up at Greg. "You were right on the money that time when you referred to Tina as Yoko."

Greg involuntarily smiled despite the melancholy topic. It was a rough case for Nick, and Greg was surprised that he'd remembered that comment he'd made under his breath.

"Nothing's been the same has it?"

Greg looked up to see Nick staring at him questioningly.

"No. it hasn't." They were both quiet again.

"Sara and I used to go out after shift too. In the beginning, when I switched to the field, she really made me feel part of the team. Especially when we were all split into two shifts. She stopped when she and Grissom started dating. I mean, her leaving is not the same as losing Warrick, but I miss her." Greg looked down at his hands. Wasn't this night supposed to be fun? Instead, the two of them had managed to dredge up less-than-happy thoughts.

"Do you think Riley feels like part of the team?" Nick's question seemed to come out of the blue, but Greg completely understood. "We haven't exactly been the most welcoming group in the past year."

"Shit. I think she probably feels more of an outsider than I ever did." Greg ran his fingers through his hair, his fingers lingering on the bandages on his forehead. The air of grief amongst the surviving members of their team was thick, and they hadn't done much outside of work to make her feel welcome.

"She seems pretty tough, at least acts that way, but it's got to bother her a little, right?"

"Yeah. Plus, this is a new town for her too." Greg looked at Nick who was leaning back against the armrest of the sofa. "You know what? We are really selfish assholes"

"Yes we are. We should probably do something about that." Nick laughed. "How about we make these nights a team staple? Invite Riley, Catherine and Ray on a regular basis?"

"Sounds good to me." Greg grinned. "Next time, let's meet at your place. I don't think I can fit three more people in my living room."

Nick gave him a lopsided smile. "Well. It certainly is _cozy_."

Greg laughed and tossed a sofa cushion at Nick. "I hate this fucking place, man."

Nick laughed, blocking the pillow from hitting him dead in the face; the melancholy mood broken. Perhaps things weren't going to be as bad as he had first suspected.


End file.
